


dancing at the dawn

by CinderAsh



Series: Letters [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death, Oneshot, Pre-Relationship, Prequel, Violence, letters au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25883776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinderAsh/pseuds/CinderAsh
Summary: "Now who's rude?" Logan grumbles, flopping back onto one of the couches left for readers in the shop.Virgil reaches forwards to pat him on the head. "Still you," he says, sliding into the seat beside his best friend in the whole world. "Me, too, but when am I not?""Never," he mutters, dropping his head to rest it on top of Virgil's, their hands intertwining. "And you can't dance, either."-How Virgil and Logan are forced apart, and how they find one another again.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders
Series: Letters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878271
Comments: 7
Kudos: 31





	dancing at the dawn

**Author's Note:**

> A prequel to an story that was not meant to be anything more than an idea, which I've nicknamed the Letters AU. Pre-romantic analogical. Written at 2 AM during a sudden surge of inspiration, so I apologize for quality. Enjoy!

"I'm going to teach you how to dance," Logan says, and he laughs as Virgil sticks out his tongue at him in mock offense.

"I can dance!" he protests, hands on his hips. "You know that! Some best friend _you_ are, L."

"Oh, please," Logan rolls his eyes, still moving in time to the music playing over the shop’s speakers. He's unfairly graceful, especially for someone usually so stiff in movement ( _calculated_ , a part of Virgil whispers, _calculated in movement,_ and yeah, that's a better word for it.) "You, in your own words, can _'_ awkwardly sway’, and that's about it."

"Rude," Virgil says, but he's grinning despite himself, and Logan's smiling too. "You're very rude."

"That's me," Logan agrees, reaching out to take Virgil's hands in his and pulling them closer together. "Rude."

"Very, very rude."

"Now," he continues, electing to ignore Virgil, "let's teach you how to do a bit more than sway, yeah?"

Virgil's bad at it. Not _really_ bad, because he's moderately graceful himself, and is able to nail the basics pretty quick; he's just stubborn, and keeps letting go of Logan's hand to boop his best friend's nose, or leaning backwards to force them into a dip, or attempting to twirl Logan at all the wrong moments.

Also, he's way too anxious about the footwork, and keeps staring at their feet to check if he's doing it right.

But it's _fun_. That's not something they get a lot of, Logan and Virgil, _fun_ , but here, dancing in Logan's bookshop, soft music playing over the speakers and their feet muffled on the carpet, they smile and laugh and they are happy.

"Better," Logan says, when the song ends and switches to a far more upbeat one, one Virgil's pretty sure crawled out of the 70s to haunt this bookshop fifty years later. He swears he hears it every time he comes here, could recite every line by heart, and despite it having nothing to do with Logan at all, other than how often it plays, he thinks of his best friend whenever he hears it.

"Better?" Virgil asks, pressing his hand to his heart. "I was _brilliant_ , thank you. Could give you a run for your money, L."

"Sure you could," Logan smirks, pulling Virgil into a proper dip, this time, their noses inches apart. Virgil flushes red, even as he tries to convince his panicking mind and thumping heart that _this is nothing, Logan and I are just friends, this is nothing-_

" _In your dreams,_ " he whispers into Virgil's ear, and pulls him back upright. "You still can't dance."

"Maybe I just don't have a good teacher," Virgil shrugs, hoping his burning cheeks are less red than they feel, and snorts in laughter when he sees how offended Logan looks.

"Now who's rude?" Logan grumbles, flopping back onto one of the couches left for readers in the shop.

Virgil reaches forwards to pat him on the head. "Still you," he says, sliding into the seat beside his best friend in the whole world. "Me, too, but when am I not?"

"Never," he mutters, dropping his head to rest it on top of Virgil's, their hands intertwining. "And you can't dance, either."

"You still love me, though," Virgil replies, and though it's something they've both said before, it feels heavier tonight, somehow, more like a promise than a simple joke.

"Always," Logan agrees softly, and wraps an arm around Virgil. It feels like safety, like home, like Logan, and Virgil enjoys it far too much.

They stay there for a long while, listening to the music in the speakers and watching the shadows lengthen in the shop as night falls. Virgil leaves, eventually.

“Get home safe,” Logan says, waving goodbye, and Virgil returns it and smiles. 

“I will,” he nods, and turns to walk up the street. He only turns back once, the shadow of Logan’s silhouette just barely visible from the window. It feels silly, but Virgil blows the Logan he can’t even see a kiss. 

The silhouette doesn’t react, but Virgil hadn’t expected it to. There’s no way it can see him, after all.

He doesn’t care.

 _We should make plans for Friday,_ he thinks, turning away. He wonders if, on Friday, he will finally say what has been on his mind for weeks now, how he’d like to be a bit more than friends, if Logan is alright with it.

The Friday of his dreams never comes, however; that night in the bookshop is the last time Virgil sees Logan.

He leaves the shop with a wave and a smile and a promise to get home safe, turns to promise a shadow something entirely different, and then the city is burning around him, everyone in it labeled _a threat, danger, to be contained immediately._

Virgil had barely escaped with his life, and even so, it was close: there is now a long scar down his back, thanks to a particularly nasty piece of shrapnel, and his left arm is never quite the same after he uses it to defend his head from the bullets. There are other scars, too, but from the after -- wandering the surrounding cities, running and running and running, and only finding the Sanders’ Sides eight months later.

The group takes him in, thank god. There is a picture of a man Virgil knew, on the wall, someone he knew only as Thomas, a nice guy who came to Logan’s shop every once in a while, who bought coffee from the same Starbucks Virgil did. _Thomas Sanders_ , the Sides tell him, who told his family what had happened inside of the city before dying from his injuries. Patton, who acts as a sort of apocalyptic case worker for Virgil, is Thomas’ younger brother.

(“Why do you call it Sanders’ Sides?” Virgil had asked Patton once, a few days into his stay at the main compound, before his transfer to the bunker. “Wouldn’t it be Sanders’ Side, if your whole thing is telling his side of the story?”

“This organization is named for my brother,” Patton says, looking up from his desk, “but it’s not just about Thomas, kiddo. We’re representing all sides of the story, not just Thomas’: all the accounts of what happened in the city that day. If you’d let us, we’d share yours, too, Virgil.” 

He doesn’t know what to say to that, and Patton just smiles, says it’s perfectly fine, there’s no pressure. It’s a _symbolic_ thing, he explains, and Virgil nods like he understands.)

His days in the compound are quick, as he’s quickly reassigned to what the other city survivors nickname solitary: living alone in a safe house, for an extended period of time. Patton seems to think he can handle it. Virgil thinks so too, despite what the others say about how bad solitary is supposed to be: he’s used to being lonely.

“Hey, Virge?” Patton says, sitting beside him on his bunk the night before he leaves. “Did you know him? My brother?”

He hesitates. “Not everyone knew each other,” Virgil tells him, not technically a lie. “It was a big city.”

“You lived near him, though,” Patton insists, and he looks so young, suddenly. Sometimes, Virgil forgets Patton is his age. “Are you sure?”

“...He used to come into my friend’s bookshop,” he confesses after a moment, staring at his hands. “He liked fantasy books, mostly. Once came fully dressed up as a Hufflepuff on Harry Potter Day.” 

“That sounds like Thomas,” Patton nods, and Virgil pretends he doesn’t notice the tears beading up at the edge of his eyes. “Thank you, kiddo.”

“I know what it’s like to lose someone,” he says simply, and when Patton lunges forwards and pulls him into a hug and starts sobbing into his neck, Virgil just pats him on the back and mutters “I’m sorry,” and “I know,” at the right moments.

And so Virgil moves to the bunker. His weekly shipments from Patton are delivered by a driver assigned to Virgil and Virgil only, so they can’t compromise any other locations if they are caught. Their name is Talyn. Their partner was in the city. They’re nice, and they haven’t given up hope on finding Joan, even after so long. It’s a nice change, their hope.

They come once a week, stay for only as long as they need. Otherwise, Virgil is alone.

He finds he doesn't mind it. 

Virgil only learns Logan has survived when Patton sends the first book with the supplies, when Virgil's already hidden in the bunker, a long year later.

 _We've been trying to get survivors in touch with each other,_ says the note on top of the book, in Patton's loopy script. _One of them said they knew a Virgil Monroe! :D_

Virgil picks up the book and freezes -- for on the front cover is a familiar sticker, one with the logo of Logan's bookshop etched in it.

He opens the book.

 _I hope you're my Virgil,_ it reads, in such familiar handwriting that it makes his heart stop. _This was his favorite book. I hope you like it, even if you are not him._

And all Virgil can think is _Logan._

And this is when the letter writing starts, enclosed in books Virgil and Logan exchange, letters Patton and the other members of his organization ferry between their two locations. The letters are long, and short, and handwritten, and typed, and contain everything from news to playful arguments to what Patton calls _flirting_ and Virgil informs him is nothing of the sort.

Virgil doesn’t know if he’ll ever see Logan again, if this nightmare will ever end, if these letters could suddenly stop one day and leave Virgil alone with the knowledge that, one way or another, his best friend has left him.

But he has the letters, and he has the books. And he remembers what Logan taught him, a year ago, alone in the quiet bookshop, and on the worst nights he plays the softer music downloaded onto the phone Patton has bought him, practicing every step, learning how to dance.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on Tumblr!  
> https://awkwardthings6.tumblr.com/


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